Never Learned
by xxsewnlipsxx
Summary: Surana was small, but she could take anything. Nathaniel is torn up inside as he learns more of her past and falls deeper in love. Surana/Nathaniel


**Title: Never Learned**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Surana was small, but she could take anything. Nathaniel is torn up inside as he learns more of her past and falls deeper in love. Surana/Nathaniel**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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Never Learned

When they found her she was laughing. Bound to a chair and covered in blood from head to toe, the Commander was laughing. Bursting through that door and taking in the sight of her, he had felt his heart swell with an anger he had never known. There were four of them, Templars, that had captured her while she was in the City of Amaranthine all by herself because she didn't want to wake any of them. Templars had the uncanny ability to drain mages of all mana, and he supposed that was how they had captured her.

They'd torn her robes, strips used to bind her naked wrists and ankles to the chair and keep her stationary while they hit her. Large bruises colored her collarbone, a splash of angry red and black across one eye while her full lips bled from the split in the middle. All of the blood was hers, saliva and crimson dribbling from her mouth with each and every impact of an armored or gloved fist. Still she was laughing, chuckling lightly while blood flecked her lips, and her large green eyes shone like little flames in her skull. Nathaniel used to have many elves at the castle. He was always so shocked at how tiny they really were, all lithe limbs and sinewy muscle. And she looked even smaller surrounded by four large humans.

He'd gutted them without mercy. Anders had burned the rest of them before they could drain his mana. Oghren had smashed one of their skulls in. When the fight was over, Nathaniel rushed to her side and undid the bindings on her wrists. He thought she might sway like a rescued damsel or rush into his arms or even cry. Instead, she simply stood up and rubbed at the rawness of her limbs, wiping her mouth off once. Walking right past him with the same undeniable pride and confidence she normally possessed, she went to a little table with a silken bag and began rummaging through it.

"Damn, you know what?" she asked him. "We have to go back to Amaranthine. I forgot the madcap."

With that she threw him a quick smile over her shoulder, gruesome with blood pooling between her gums before spitting and demanding. "Someone find me something to wear. I can't very well waltz into the city in my smallclothes."

Oghren whistled and threw back his head in a raucous laugh. Anders found a black cloak to hand her, and they did in fact go straight back to the city to buy madcap. Only then did she return to the keep and dunk her head in a bucket of water, refusing Seneschal Varel's worried assistance. Nathaniel caught her later in the room she and Anders used to make potions and poultices. She was dabbing a blue substance on her split lip, staff leaning absently against the wall, brand new robes singing with lyrium enhancements.

He was using stealth to enter the room, but she caught him anyway. "This is mage territory, Nathaniel. What can I do for you?" Tiny fingers setting down a golden hand mirror, she raised an eyebrow at him. "You can't be out of poultices already, can you?"

He swallowed, actually nervous. Her gaze was unnerving, the woman that laughed at death. Before her he had looked down on elves, despising them for their weakness and natural inferiority. He knew now that they could rise up and kill all the humans if they wanted to. They were not a people to be trifled with, and his people would learn that soon enough. Still, it would be a lesson hard won. Sometimes he still lay awake at night, thinking of all the horrible things he had said to her because she was an elf. He remembered what he thought when she was dealing out punishments as the Arlessa.

_Go back to your trees, elf. There is no place for you here._

But she had saved his life and given him back his sister and his grandfather's bow. She had redeemed his family in his own eyes and given him the chance to redeem himself. He owed her, an elf, more than he had ever owed a person in his life. And the sad thing was that he would never get the chance to pay her back. She was so strong that she didn't need anyone to hold her up.

"I'm not," he assured her. "I was just wondering, Commander, if you were all right. The Templars were…merciless."

Snorting in a very unlady-like fashion, she waved a dismissive hand at him. "Templars! Cowards, all of them. You mark my words that it is the Templars that cause the problems at the tower. All they have is their fists and their swords, no brains." She rapped her temples for emphasis. "They see a mage and all they think is that it must die."

Nathaniel took another, quiet step into the room as she picked up the mirror again. "All of them?" he asked softly.

"Well," she paused, seeming to rethink her statement, "no, not all of them. Cullen was…Cullen was a good man. In all that darkness…he was different."

"Is this someone special, Ser?" he asked kindly, carefully concealing the jealousy he felt in his gut.

"_Was_," she said, facing him. "Cullen is dead, and if he were not, he'd be insane. He loved a mage, and it cost him his mind and his life." It seemed like a warning to him.

"You cared deeply for him," Nathaniel accused, but instead of annoying her, it only brought a rueful smile to her lips.

"I adored him," she admitted, eyes almost glazing over as she lost herself in the memories. "I loved his voice and his music. I heard it sometimes in the library when I snuck out to practice spells. He had a tiny instrument—I don't know what it was called—that made the most beautiful sounds. I suppose I…I suppose I loved him." Surana seemed to catch herself sharing a bit too much and shook her head. "Apologies, Nathaniel. You did not come here to listen to me muse about the past. The only question that remains is what did you come here for?"

"I…" he paused, uncertain before retreating. "I don't know." Just what did he want to ask her? Why was she so strong? Why had she been laughing? Why did she make him so absolutely jealous and possessive? Why did he care for her? Those weren't questions a warden asked of his Commander. Bowing his head slightly, he said, "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

"Nathaniel," she called, bringing him back. Something flew at him, and instinctively he snatched it out of the air. It was a bag of herbs, lightly bound in brown paper and string. She grinned. "Give that to Oghren for his rash."

…

He didn't see her for several days after that since she was in Amaranthine with Oghren and Velanna and Sigrun. They were arranging for more merchants to come to the keep, the single Qunari and elf not doing much anymore. Surana wanted trade to flow and was secretly scanning the streets for more recruits to protect the farmers. After the siege of the Vigil, their numbers were running low. When she did come back it was with an exhausted smile on her face and deep bruises about her eyes, sunken and very fatigued. She spoke with the Seneschal briefly before dismissing the three wardens and trailing off to her room. Nathaniel sat at the dinner table, mopping up the gravy from his potatoes with a roll.

The Commander slept for three days after that, and no one had the heart to disturb her. Nathaniel trained recruits in the training yard; Anders helped Velanna learn to be an arcane warrior; Oghren drank himself half to death; and Sigrun spent most of the time looking out of her spyglass, missing Justice's company.

Nathaniel had divested himself of his armor and leathers and crawled beneath the heavy blankets of his bed when Surana burst into the room as lively as ever. Her hand was thrust into the room first, blue fire flickering stationary there as a light source. Nathaniel shot into a sitting position, reaching for his bow. "Come on, Howe, let's go! There's darkspawn to be killed." Surana didn't bother keeping her voice down or the loud whoop she let out upon entering the room.

"For the love of the Maker, what time is it?" he demanded groggily, quite startled at her intrusion. She was fully dressed in her battle robes with her staff in its leather sheath across her back. He rubbed at his eyes.

"No Maker here, boy!"—and he was quite certain that was inappropriate as he was older than she was—"Just before the sun rises, now let's go. Get up and get dressed!" As quickly as she had come, she was gone with sparks falling to the floor, and Nathaniel dragged himself out of bed to pull on his leathers.

Later they were walking around in the Deep Roads with her glowing fingers leading the way, the bodies of dead darkspawn piled in corners from their previous visit.

"Commander," Sigrun complained sleepily, "this is a pretty gloomy place to be already this morning."

"I think it's lovely," Surana replied cheerfully. When Nathaniel gave her a look that said her sanity was in question, she shrugged. "The architecture is nice. It has charm if you squint."

"Aye, or after a few pints," Oghren replied from the rear.

"That's a good idea, actually," Surana said dreamily, wiggling her fingers and brightening the tiny flames in her hand. "We should have done that instead of going on this little field trip."

"We haven't actually seen any darkspawn," Nathaniel remarked idly. Surana clapped a hand on his shoulder, fingers dwarfed by the size of his bicep. "What is the point of this?"

"There's darkspawn to be eradicated!" she said, showing her pointed elven teeth. "Why so glum. Chin up, I'm ready for some action." And she gently cuffed him under the chin and took the lead again, quickening her pace. Nathaniel stood open-mouthed. The commander never touched anyone, careful to keep a distance between herself and people at all time. Sigrun marched ahead after her, but Oghren seemed to realize the significance of it, too, and whistled quietly.

"Figures she'd go for another human," he grumbled, short legs propelling him forward after the eccentric young elf.

_Another?_

It was at the dinner table when Surana had finished her third bowl of thick stew and excused herself to the training yards that Nathaniel posed the question to Oghren. The dwarf was nearly drunk after having sucked down an entire barrel of brandy, and Nathaniel was hoping it would also mean he wouldn't remember the conversation. Just after the last bit of her robes disappeared out the door, Nathaniel leaned over.

"Oghren, may I ask you something?"

"Go 'head," he mumbled around a forked dumpling.

"In the Deep Roads this morning, what did you mean by her going for 'another' human?" he whispered conspiratorially. Oghren threw back his head and laughed, slightly trimmed beard vibrating with his laughter.

"Didn't know, did ya boy?" he chuckled. "Our Commander was the mistress of the King for six months!" The dwarf said it loudly enough that a few of the servants covered their ears and clicked their tongues miserably, clearing away the Commander's dishes. None of them liked Oghren. He was always making a mess. Now he was making noise.

"No," Nathaniel replied sadly. "I didn't know that."

"Aye, not many do," Oghren said more quietly, elbowing Nathaniel in the ribs. "Should have seen the two of them! All lovey-dovey until Alistair became king. Then the girl just got miserable. Couldn't take not bein' free. Aye, she's crazier than a nug that survived a deepstalker attack, and here she can act just as crazy as she wants." Peering into his empty goblet, he snorted. "Guess it must be bein' in the tower what made her like humans. She never was interested in Zevran in that way, and damn if he didn't try."

Nathaniel didn't know who Zevran was, but it was slightly reassuring to him that she hadn't shared affections with him. But he was being terribly presumptuous. The Commander was crazy when it came to battle and blood, affectionate when it came to her dog and Oghren, and warm and understanding when it came to her wardens and people in need. Never was she romantically involved. She never flirted with the courtesans that teased her when the other nobles visited. She refused any misters or mistresses that the others offered, and generally kept to herself. There was one recruit that was shamelessly in love with her, but she was far too busy to notice such a thing.

Yet when they were alone, it felt like she was reaching out to him, as a friend and something else.

Before he could think anymore, she burst into the room soaked to the bone with rainwater, completely serious. "Varel, the Templars are here. I want Anders found and at my side at once! Someone get me a towel, quickly."

When the Commander was dried, five Templars in their shining, silver armor were brought forward to an Arlessa leaning casually in her throne, Anders at her side all aquiver. Nathaniel stood at her other side, tense, remembering the jeering faces of those brutal men he'd slain.

The Knight-Commander wanted to apologize feverishly for his men and their behavior, wishing to know just where the abduction had taken place and who was in charge of the men. He promised with a blushing face to immediately punish whoever had been their commanding officer and make it up to her as soon as possible. She listened to his entire speech without interrupting once, smiling kindly at the end and standing up to bow. She forgave him easily, reminding him that he couldn't possibly control all Templars everywhere, and that the men had been dealt with. Before they left, she offered them all a place to sleep within the Vigil and then grabbed Nathaniel's arm while a few servants showed them the rooms.

"I want you to keep an eye on Anders tonight," she whispered in his ear, hot breath tantalizingly close. He forced himself to focus. "Also, tell Varel to keep the female servants well away from them. Templars—men, really—can be vicious after months among their own gender. Even holy ones."

He agreed, having spent so long in the Free Marshes. The women had been sparse there and usually married.

That night the Commander didn't sleep at all. She wandered the halls of the Vigil like a wraith, even stopping in the kitchen to chop potatoes. Nathaniel knew because he couldn't sleep either, and she caught him charming food from one of the elven serving girls. Grinning, she sank the blade into the cutting counter and leaned onto her elbow.

"Nathaniel Howe, how shameless!" she was teasing, and he knew it.

"Me? Look at you! Imagine what the nobles would say about this," he gestured to the state of her, the fire warming her cheeks and hands, apron smeared with grease and food, pale hair yanked back out of her eyes.

"Damn the nobles," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "I must say they're not half as interesting as they pretend to be, no offense meant."

"No offense taken," he replied. "You're not much on decorum, are you?"

She snorted. "Never learned it, just like subtlety. Zevran used to tell me I was as subtle as a bronto. I didn't know to be insulted until I actually _saw _a bronto." Swiping a strand of hair out of her eyes, she continued chopping the potatoes. The kitchen was strangely deserted, only one scullery maid cleaning the oven out.

"Can't sleep?" he prodded simply out of desire to end the silence.

"Never could with the Templars around," she shook her head. "It was stupid of me to keep them here."

"It was kind."

"Well, my kindness put Anders on edge and cost me a night of sleep. I know his type , scared to death of Templars," she said earnestly.

"Anders doesn't seem scared," Nathaniel replied.

"No, he doesn't," she scraped the potatoes into a bubbling cauldron on the fire and began untying her apron. "He acts tough around them, but we're all essentially scared of them. All our lives we're told they have the power to end us with just one swing of that sword. They watch us always, and they get into our minds. They're a symbol of death, and any man would be afraid of that."

"Even you?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "Sometimes I feel like that scared little girl in the tower, and I have to remind myself that I'm an Arlessa now and a grey warden at that." She dusted off her hands and tossed the apron on the table. "But you're not interested in my whining, and I think I'll go for a walk."

"By yourself?" he demanded. "With those Templars roaming about?" Nathaniel was almost angry at the prospect.

She widened her eyes. "I'll be careful. No need to be so upset."

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"If you like, Ser," she said with a smile. "Such a gentleman to protect the damsel." Laughing softly at the expression on his face, she flitted toward the door, a white moth in the low firelight. He followed.

Outside of the Vigil, the respective soldiers bowed to her as she passed their posts. It was a cool night, one of stars and shadows. Fresh wind blew from the North and teased her sloppy bun of hair. Her skin was luminescent in the starlight. Grass rustled softly underfoot as they circled the keep, the mage once or twice pointing out a hole in the ground and warning him to watch his step. Suddenly she stopped and took a breath of air, lighting that small fire in her hand. How useful, he thought, to carry around a portable torch.

She was holding it up and squinting into the dark. "I'm afraid that being a warden as addled my wits. I was sure I heard my mabari barking."

"It must just be the sound from the kennels," he explained.

"Perhaps," she said cryptically. "Oh, how I miss my little Owen." She sighed dramatically before grinning at him and starting again her slow, meticulous pace. He trailed after her in silence.

"Commander, could I…no, never mind," he said, changing his mind the instant she inclined her head in that affectionate, listening manner.

She paused. "You can ask me anything you like," she said, guessing at his question.

"I just—" he really didn't want to ruin her good mood. The Commander was always so kind to him, respectful of his wishes, but he _needed _to know the truth. "Were you really a mistress of the king?"

The question came out so fast that he wasn't sure she heard him, but she did. Her face fell just a little, and the light in her fingers dimmed ever so slightly before she smiled. "Why all these questions about my love life? First Cullen and now Alistair…I'm beginning to suspect, Nathaniel."

Frustration edged his tone. "Just—please just tell me." It was as close to begging as he would ever get, and she seemed to understand this.

"For six months after the Blight," she answered in a monotone as if explaining it to Varel or a particularly nosy Bann. "I loved Alistair and tried to stay with him even though he was king, but it didn't work. Now I'm here, and I couldn't be happier. The past is the past."

That wasn't what he wanted or expected. There was some sort of need swirling inside him, but he couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't understand it. "But is that…I mean—is that truly enough for you? Simply to exist here with friends? What about family, a lover, children?"

"I've never known family," she said, caressing the foreign word with her tongue. "Children are impossible for us all now, and as for a lover…well, are you offering, Nathaniel?" The tone was teasing; she was trying to lighten the mood, but he swallowed thickly and shot a glance at her.

"I don't know…" was all he said, and he felt her stiffen beside him just slightly, the fire in her hand going out abruptly.

"Nathaniel, I—" but he cut her off.

Sighing, he said, "I spent a long time in the Free Marshes. I met all types of women, humans and dwarves and elves alike. I served with a few, and even after all that time, I retained my racism. You changed that. You're flighty and enthusiastic but severe and strong when it counts. You're…positively the most amazing woman I've ever met, and I have to admit that I don't know how to court you like a gentleman." There was something like sadness and pain in her eyes, but he continued. "I wish I did. I wish I had the experience to sweep you off your feet or the time to woo you with flowers and poems and pretty souvenirs from Amaranthine. I can't."

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "You don't want me, Nathaniel Howe. I'm a mage. I killed your father. I made a deal with a darkspawn mutant to save the world from the Blight. I can't give you a pretty daughter or a strong son. I can't be anything but a further embarrassment to your name. All I am and will ever be is the Warden-Commander at Vigil's Keep."

"Isn't that enough?" he turned on her, something dark shining in his eyes. "You're the Hero of Ferelden, the Hero of Redcliffe, and the Warden-Commander, Arlessa of Vigil's Keep."

"All those names are pretty," she said, "but in the end, I am just a mage who is very lucky to be alive. I make the best of what I can, and I try to do best by everyone. You'd be so much happier with someone else…anyone else."

"I want _you_," he said simply, and she sucked in a breath.

It was so hard to read her face, he wished for a moment for the ability to conjure fire. He wanted to know what was going through her mind, what she was thinking. The silence stretched on, and just when he couldn't take it anymore, she touched his left bicep and stared demurely upward from beneath thick lashes.

"Will you kiss me, then, Nathaniel?" she asked shyly. He turned to her, looking at her for perhaps the very first time. She _was _beautiful, he decided the moment he _really _gauged her attractiveness. Her ears were small and pointed, her nose right in the middle of her face, slightly crooked from one-too-many broken noses. Her lips were a light pink and soft beneath his thumb as he traced the shape. Her face was the exact shape of a heart, eyes large and nearly owlish in her head. The size gave her an innocent and startled look. It had been her determination and mind that had attracted him, but as he pulled her closer, he realized he wanted not just her mind but her body as well.

And when he kissed her, the sensation that ran across his body was nearly electric. The kiss was light, sweet, but quickly became intense with him crushing her soft, pliable body to his large one as she plunged her fingers into his hair and moaned, the vibration radiated across his entire body. As they parted with panting breaths, she cupped his face in her hands and stared up at him. She was so short, he realized, that he nearly had to haul her up from the ground to kiss her. Thank the Maker she wasn't a dwarf.

"We should go inside before they come looking for us," she whispered.

"Are you trying to invite me into your room?" he smiled.

"I was trying to be subtle," she chuckled.

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**I love Nate. What can I say? Thanks for reading. Review please.**


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